


inveniet viam aut faciet

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Pre-Series, Student Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 20:45:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13372749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: “I was invited to give a lecture,” another pause, “at the John Hopkins University.” He then turns to face her, watching her reaction. There should be nothing singular about a mention of the name, apart from the school’s high reputation. Except for the fact that it is the school she attended. The school they both attended.





	inveniet viam aut faciet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caissa/gifts).



Hannibal Lecter slowly stretches his hands on his lap, straightening the invisible wrinkle on the fabric of his trousers. He then places one hand on top of the other, resting them idly while his gaze slowly shifts to the side before returning to rest on the woman sitting opposite him.

Bedelia often wonders if this is how surveyors in the wild feel, observing animals in their natural habitat, discovering routines and patterns. She watches the familiar gestures of her patient, knowing exactly which one will follow next. What she does not know is whether it is a premeditated pattern, one designed to draw her attention, or is it merely an unintentional shred detaching itself from the currently loose stitching of his person suit. One thing is certain, it is an unmistakable sign that something persists on her patient’s mind, but he is not yet ready to share it with her.

Her eyes meet his curiously, but she does not comment on his wandering stare. She knows better than to pull at the untied threads of his veil; a wrong tug and the stitching will become tight again, too tight in fact, remade in a rush, without her expert hand slowly guiding the ongoing pattern. Bedelia does not want that to happen; as his doctor, his wellbeing is her priority.

So, she waits patiently, asking vague questions and listening to his non-specific answers, although they both know the words are merely filling in the empty space between them, but not conveying any meaning.

“Our time is up,” she glances at her watch, trying to hide the disappointment in her eyes. His mind remains stubbornly shut for now. Next week perhaps, she thinks as she proposes the wine choice.

“Whichever one you prefer, Doctor,” he nods politely in her direction, so unlike him not to offer a preference.

Bedelia ponders this new detail on her way to the kitchen and back. She finds him standing by the window, the confinement of the therapy chair already left behind, eager, as always, to share a drink and this moment with her. At times, this feels like the true purpose of their sessions. She hands him a glass and pours the wine, delicate pink sploshing against the clear crystal.

Hannibal takes a small sip of his wine, but does not comment on the notes as usual. His fingers slowly trace the stem and he appears to be lost in contemplation. Bedelia watches him with a slightly raised eyebrow while savouring her own drink. The sparkling liquid leaves a pleasant, tingling sensation on her tongue; she enjoys the vintage, even if Hannibal doesn’t.

“I have to cancel our next week’s session, Doctor,” the words leave his mouth slowly, his eyes still focused on the wine, “I apologise for the short notice.”

So, it isn’t the vintage’s fault after all. He looks at her at last with a quiet resolve, indicating that the deeply tangled notions in his mind finally unravel. Bedelia hides her satisfied smile behind the ball of her glass and takes another sip to collect her thoughts and rearrange her previous observations.

“That’s quite all right, Hannibal,” she responds after a moment, “We can reschedule if you wish to.”

Hannibal nods in acknowledgment, but says nothing as if waiting for her to continue. Silence falls as Bedelia takes another mouthful of her wine and her time in relishing the flavour. He expects her to enquire about his plans, she knows it well, but she is reluctant to do so. This is not a therapy session anymore, she is not obligated to engage him with questions. She presses her lips and looks out the window, letting her mind wonder off and focus on something else, but her curiosity won’t let it.

“Are you going somewhere?” she asks in her most nonchalant tone, not wanting to give him the full satisfaction.

“Yes, I am,” he says and then, to her surprise, pauses. He takes another sip, his tongue flicking over his lower lip, before continuing.

“I was invited to give a lecture,” another pause, “at the John Hopkins University.” He then turns to face her, watching her reaction. There should be nothing singular about a mention of the name, apart from the university’s high reputation. Except for the fact that it is the school she attended. The school they both attended.

“How wonderful. On what subject?” she holds his gaze, her tone casual, but she gently steers the conversation in the desired direction.

“The conversion from one medical speciality to another. I presume they are looking for a personal insight,” his mouth turns up in a playful half smile, one that seems to be reserved for her alone.

“Your move was rather unconventional,” she comments, “And _unexpected._ ” She falls silent again, the unspoken sentiments hang in the echoes of her words. Hannibal merely nods.

“It will be interesting to visit the university after all these years,” he adds, his voice as unconsidered as hers, but he tugs the exchange back to his side. Bedelia does not comment.

“Have you ever paid a visit?” he asks, a gentle push in her direction, then once again hides behind his now empty glass. She has never considered Hannibal to be in need of a prop, how peculiar.

“I did not receive any invitation for a lecture,” she responds shortly.

“It is their loss,” another smile as Hannibal cannot pass on an opportunity to complement her, “I meant a social visit,” he returns to the topic at hand with a quiet determination.

“I have not. I do not see the point,” she responds with a careful honesty. It is the truth, she has never held any nostalgic attachment to her college years. Her purpose was to gain the best possible education; once she did that, she left that place behind.

“Some people enjoy calling on the place where their adult life started to be defined. These years can be rather significant. Or maybe they just appreciate the recollections,” he adds almost hesitantly.

“I am not one of these people, Hannibal,” she does not allow herself to be pulled into his game.

“You left an impression on the school, perhaps it left one on you too. You must have some good memories, Doctor,” his voice is suddenly hushed and the words leave his mouth in a hurry as if they were rehearsed. She wonders how long he has been wanting to ask her that.

It has been an almost unmentioned agreement between them and they have never spoken about it. The past should stay in the past, Bedelia has always believed. He is her patient now, nothing more. But Hannibal does not share the same viewpoint.

“I am sure a man of your social standing had plenty of good memories,” she retorts at once, her tone sharper than she intended, her words more telling than they should be.

“I enjoyed my years there, yes,” he says, watching her closely out of the corner of his eye.

“Quite overtly,” the words slip from her lips, before she can stop herself.

Hannibal Lecter had a reputation amongst their fellow students and even some of the faculty. The stories of his conquests were whispered with concealed excitement in the study halls and common areas. Bedelia suspected they were largely exaggerated, as most rumours are, but she did not want to appear to be too _interested_.

“You had a repute too, Doctor,” the words are somehow careful on his lips, he is aware that they are now venturing into a tricky emotional landscape of the past.

“Of an ice queen?” she cannot stop herself and despite not caring for other people’s ill devised words, it unexpectedly pains her to remember where the phrase was uttered first.

Bedelia always went against everyone’s expectations of her and kept her distance. As much as she is appreciative of her physical appearance, she had never relied on it to achieve anything. She had never needed to; she always prided herself on her work and discipline.

“A remarkable woman and a brilliant student,” he states at once, as if reading her mind, “I always looked forward to our conversations.”

Bedelia swallows a riposte and takes a deep breath. She has said too much already. She takes the wine bottle from the table and tops-up her glass. As much as she wants to keep her intellect sharp all the time, now, as the careful balance in her mind comes apart, she needs reinforcement. Without a word, she refills Hannibal’s glass as well. He nods, a silent thank you, before taking a mouthful of the wine. He gazes ahead as if pondering the recollections.

“You were an exceptional colleague too, Hannibal,” she breaks the silence, her voice uncommonly quiet, but it is enough to make him look at her once more.

She somehow regrets referring to his social position when his intelligence was always so astounding. It felt natural that they gravitated towards each other, two singular minds. But she does not want to admit how much she enjoyed their conversations back then.

“You were the only person there I found challenging,” he smiles gently and his eyes drift away again in soft reminiscence.

“A challenge to be met?” Bedelia hides behind a poorly conceived counter once more. It is hard to manoeuvre a conversation which involves delving into a part of her mind she does not wish to unlock.

“That is not what I mean,” he responds at once.

“But you cannot say you didn’t try,” she retorts, suddenly looking up at him firmly. She remembers the evening when they were both working late in the library and Hannibal offered to drive her home.

“That was never my intention. You were far too important,” his voice becomes hushed again, making her feel more apprehensive.

Silence descends once more, assigning the blame between them.

“You were the one who invited me in, Bedelia,” he says suddenly, finally having done away with the barely contrived guise.

She did. Despite the opinions, Bedelia had lovers. It was a way of relieving the pressure of the studies. She usually preferred the company of women to men; they better understood the casual nature of their relations and were discreet. But she found Hannibal very attractive and decided to act upon that desire.

That was a mistake.

“I am sure you were delighted at the opportunity,” she makes good use of the glass in her hand, hiding the grimace on her lips, as she takes a sip.

“Yes, but not for the reasons you thought.”

Hannibal sets down his glass and turns to face her; his hands by his side, standing tall, eyes not leaving hers. This is another gesture she knows well, the rarest of them all; Hannibal purposely peeling off his veil to reveal raw emotions pulsating beneath its surface.

“You kissed me, Bedelia,” his eyes are burning ambers as he looks at her intensely, “You cannot tell me the kiss meant nothing to you. It meant everything to me.”

She offered him a drink that evening and when he declined, she decided not to waste any more time and kissed him. And he returned the kiss as she knew he would. She figured that he looked forward to claiming that price and couldn’t wait to turn the tables and claim him for herself instead. But the kiss was not what she anticipated; he kissed her very slowly, with infinite tenderness. As if he had waited an eternity to do so and was savouring each brush of her lips. She moved her mouth ardently over his, turning the kiss fierce and fast-burning. But then it evolved again, into an intimate touch, full of inquiry and fresh discovery. She was acutely aware of her rapid heartbeat, the surroundings faded rapidly as she melted against him.

That is not what was supposed to happened. She pulled away abruptly, filled with sudden panic.

“And I stopped the kiss,” Bedelia states coolly.

She is not surprised he remembers is all so well, but she does not want him to know she does to. She sealed these events behind a wall in her mind, tall and impenetrable, but memories still slip through, bright and vivid, the disquietude of her heart.

“I wish you didn’t,” he says in a feeble voice and each word drips with melancholia.

Bedelia remains silent. She can still recall the crestfallen look settling in his eyes when she sent him away that evening. That was a last time they had seen each other before the school year ended. And then Bedelia left for a semester in France. She barely recalls that time; she had surrounded herself with an insignificant string of passing lovers, as if attempting to erase the feel of Hannibal’s lips. To no avail.

When she returned, Hannibal had already graduated. A new star surgeon in a making. She had followed psychiatry and thought their paths would never cross.

And, yet, here they are.

Her gaze wonders to the scenery outside the window; velvety darkness slowly envelops the last light of day, turning the trees into twisted figures frozen in time, unable to escape. Bedelia feels powerless as well. Exhaustion sets in as her usually composed mind struggles with the unforeseen disorder. She searches for a polite way to end the meeting, but, once again, Hannibal predicts her thoughts.

“I do not wish to overstay my welcome, Doctor,” he straightens his jacket and moves towards the corridor. Bedelia puts down her half empty glass and follows.

“Good luck with your lecture, Hannibal,” she bids him farewell as they walk towards the door. Her tone is as calm as ever, not betraying the disarray in her mind.

Hannibal stops by the door, but does not reach for the handle. Instead, he turns and looks at her with the same heartfelt stare he did before, a final glance under the shroud before he rearranges it again and steps into the outside world.

“There has never been a time when I am not thinking of you, Bedelia,” his baritone is so deep and smooth it makes her heart flutter against her rib cage, but she holds her ground.

She opens her mouth, ready to dismiss his sentiments, but he suddenly leans forward and kisses her. His lips press against hers gently, undemanding, just like they did all these years ago. He kisses her softly again and again, and Bedelia feels something dissolving within her. All the longings she was trying to keep locked away, in hope that they would perish with time, come awake, stronger than before. Suddenly the brushes are not enough and she opens her mouth, inviting him in. His hand cradles her cheek as he deepens the kiss, warm skin enveloping hers and she moans into his mouth at the shared pleasure. It feels better than she remembered. It feels like their lips have never been separated.

When their mouths part, she gasps loudly, the air filling her lungs with a rush. They look at each other without a word, mouths open, eyes wide. She expects him to apologise for the inappropriate behaviour, but he doesn’t. He keeps staring at her, as if memorising her and this moment, before finally opening the door and leaving.

Bedelia remains rooted to the spot, her breaths uneven, lips still parted. She feels the wall inside her mind crumbling to pieces, her perfectly controlled world set aflame by a spark in her heart.

She knows she won’t be able to rebuild the carefully cultivated barrier, the pieces are turning to dust and are swept away by the flurry of sensations within her. But now she realises she does not want to banish these feelings. She never did.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt (and local facts check) by kmo. ♥ Hope it will cheer you up during the late nights!  
> We don't know how they met, expect for the fact that they have been in each other's lives for a very long time. I love the idea of them knowing each other (and wanting each other) since student years.  
> The title is a quote by Seneca: "He will find a way, or make one." It felt very Hannibal.


End file.
